The room dark and emptied now, Elisha sits alone in the first row looking up at the piano he’s filled with ghosts.
(fiction)
Robert Shapard’s Bare Ana doesn’t only platform flash—it weaponizes it. These stories are tiny grenades: compact enough to pocket, but powerful enough to leave a mark.
(reviews)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books:
No wonder Mr. Barde is struggling to fall asleep, considering his job where hypertension goes without saying. So, he suffers patiently, reads until impossible hours, and sometimes plays at cultivating insomnia, gaining thus beaches of meditation, wanderings in thought fostered by silence.
(translations)
This is the first in our Palestinian Voices series, featuring work by Palestinian writers and artists, including people who are part of the Palestinian diaspora.
The dignified broadcaster on TV smiled. “The boy’s mouth is now a restricted military zone,” he announced.
(Palestinian Voices/ Translations)
I wish I’d thought to shove my friend L. off his drum throne, sit in his place, and try my hand at the kit. But in my defense, this was high school in the 1970s, when teenaged girls didn’t play drums.
(nonfiction)
Inside the mountain of smoke were orange, flickering circles like tornado funnels. And they were bearing south at what was clearly a tremendous speed. This was the Palisades Fire, the worst urban firestorm in a century.
(nonfiction)
Man’s resentment at her for being torn in half, forced to share his Maker’s image but not enough to spare. He wept petitions in the lap of Tigris and Euphrates, “Please, please!” he moaned, “She’s too singular to be understood!”
(poetry)
My mother insisted
til the day she died
that I was born at a very early age
I still don’t know if I believe that
(poetry)
I wasn’t blameless. I’d slammed doors, I’d yelled. One time, I threw a plate against the wall and it shattered. But when someone hits you, you leave. That’s what you do, even if no one else loves you but your cat.
(fiction)
The song might be the length it took for a historic city to be destroyed (twenty-two minutes) one February evening.
Who collects the snow globes of war and of fathers?
A collection of snow globes, each says “it is snowing.”
(poetry)
if the Earth would just split in two
& one half would take its leave
I’d take a seat on the other half
& absorb the blue skies above
(translations/poetry)
Part of our series of pieces inspired by the Democratic Party’s 2024 platform.
Children cough, wheeze, inhale the gas, and rub burning eyes in the capital city through January. Inhalers are in demand. The government talks about creating artificial rain to clear up the sky.
(nonfiction)
Farmwork required
strong hands and body
not the somersaults
of ABCs in the mind.
(No Place is Foreign)
That’s the thing about addiction. It hides in plain sight, promising to quit. At first it itches, and then it hurts a little, but then it just becomes who you are.
(nonfiction)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books:
Though I have only recently revealed myself to him, Eddie identifies me as the culprit, which kicks off a harangue: How could you do it? Why? Why? Why? and the like, all vocalized aloud.
…and while I care about respect, it isn’t my driving force, my raison d’etre, and I most certainly don’t fight police (or anyone for that matter), and in the end understand that while I am Latin, I am Hispanic, I do love Mexican music and even my dad, I formed my own sense of identity because I had to or I would have gone crazy; and perhaps, maybe, possibly, I did for a while.
(nonfiction)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books:
For decades, Bubbie avoided mentioning the war. Her close friends were refugees and survivors, already well acquainted with tragedy. They all had their own stories of loss and suffering, and no one wanted another.
This film explores the use of both sound and text as response and the relationship between sound and soundless answers.
(audiovisual)
To say that the often experimental stories in Amy Stuber’s “Sad Grownups” are clever, funny, and intelligently designed is accurate, but experimentation can give way to gimmickry, wittiness to cattiness, and none of that happens here.
(reviews)
The poet writes of boxes, or labels, used to define and classify Black people, especially ingrained into the psychology of young Black girls. In her prose poem “Floss (Verb),” she introduces the verb meaning “to flaunt” in her own code of language.
(reviews)
People think I’m taller than I am. Bed is a good place to be. I miss you. I think I lost something.
(audiovisual)
Rarely do we see the history of the Revolutionary War and Founding era considered in the context of Midwestern history. Most commonly, this time period’s impact on the Midwest is simply ignored…
(reviews)
Cris Mazza’s ruminations, on full display, are provocative and frequently resonant of the shared problems we women must reckon with. She challenges us to refuse to be victims, she confides a hundred petty aversions it’s satisfying to recognize.
(reviews)
Has our attempt at diplomacy boiled down to arms shipments alone? We, like the Ukrainians, just want to raise our children, and have prosperity without greed.
(nonfiction)
You are cordially invited to join Another Chicago Magazine for a reading at Secret World…
“Death and” is ultimately an epic fable about the relationship between its autobiographical speaker and the figure of Death as the speaker navigates plague, loss, precarious labor (sexual, manual, gig economy), and trans experience.
Part of our series of pieces inspired by the Democratic Party’s 2024 platform.
“We can recite the Preamble here,” my mother said.
“Who would hear us?” I asked.
“We can say it to the sky.”
(fiction)
Harvey’s book is like a collection of deeply intimate fables: fables that explore the past and present, familial relationships, nostalgia, and the ephemeral nature of life’s tragedies.
(reviews)
You are cordially invited to join Another Chicago Magazine for a reading at Secret World…
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new and recent books:
exhausted like a French arthouse film
there’s always a male and female lead
reuniting for us
(TCTC translations/poetry)
Another Chicago Magazine 